ii
Duval walked into the galley. He was hungry and, bad weather or not, he did not like to miss too many meals.
Several members of the crew were playing cards at the galley table. They were taking the storm casually. They pretended not to be interested in what was happening outside.
The ship rocked violently. Heavy coffee mugs slid back and forth on the galley table. Smitty sat in a corner of the galley, his chin on his knees. From time to time he would groan. The fat cook, in salt-soaked clothes, opened cans.
Duval took a can of hash out of the locker. The ship rolled suddenly, slanting the deck. He stumbled across the galley and sat down on the bench with the others.
“Lousy, isn’t it?” commented one of them.
“Just a little blow, that’s all. You’ve never seen nothing till you’ve seen a tropical hurricane. This stuff up here is nothing like that. This is a breeze.”
“Sure, we heard that one before, Chief.”
“That’s the truth.” The Chief put food into his mouth. He had not realized how hungry he was. The fat cook poured him coffee.
The men talked about the Big Harbor and other things. They did not speak of the storm which was beginning. They spoke of the Indian who had died at the Big Harbor. Everyone told the story differently and Duval was bored to hear the story again. He had never liked Aleuts anyway. He looked at Smitty in the corner.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.
“This water.” Smitty cursed for several moments. “This the last trip I ever make. I seen everything now. I’m getting off this boat, I’m going back fast. We ain’t never getting out of this.” His dirt-colored hands gestured limply. The others laughed.
“Take it easy, Smitty,” said the Chief. “You going to live forever.” Smitty said nothing.
Duval chuckled. He was not frightened by bad weather. He had seen so many storms and he did have confidence in Evans. Duval was not worried.
The men talked of the Big Harbor and of all the things they had done.
“Say, Chief,” said one, “did you see Olga?”
“Sure I saw her. I always see her. Anybody with money can see her.”
The man laughed. “I guess Bervick isn’t feeling so good today.”
“He takes life too seriously,” said the Chief and that was all he would say.
Hodges came into the galley from the salon.
“What’ve you been up to, Lieutenant?” asked Duval, genially.
“I’ve been wandering around the boat. I’ve never seen waves as big as they are outside. They must be over fifty feet.”
“Not quite that big but they will be pretty soon.” Duval closed his eyes for a moment. He had found that closing his eyes for a moment or so was very restful. It soothed him to do this. He was not at all worried, of course.
The light from the electric bulb overhead shone on his eyelids, and he could see nothing but red with his eyes shut, a warm clear red. He thought of the colorful bayou land of Louisiana. Usually he did not care where he was, but he did like color and there was no color in the Aleutians, only light and shadow on rock and water. The Chief opened his eyes.
Hodges was biting his thumbnail. The Chief watched him. He wondered what he might have done if he had been as well educated as Hodges. Probably the same things. Life was about the same for all people; only the details varied.
“I hear they expect the big wind around midnight,” said Hodges.
“That’s what Evans says. He don’t know, though. He guesses just like the rest of us do. We guess, we all guess and most of the time we’re wrong.” The Chief enjoyed discrediting Evans occasionally.
“Well, it should be some sight. I’m glad I’ll be able to see it.” One of the deckhands laughed.
“You won’t like it so much,” said Duval. “Even though these blows up here aren’t nothing compared to what we used to have in the Gulf.” The crew laughed. Anything that could keep their minds away from the coming storm was good.
“What’s happened to the Chaplain?” asked Duval.
“He’s in the salon. I expect he’s feeling bad. He doesn’t take to this sea business at all.”
“I suppose I’d better go see how he is.” Carefully Duval got to his feet and walked across the deck. He slipped once and swore to himself as he did. His balance wasn’t as steady as it had once been.
Chaplain O’Mahoney was sitting at the galley table, his jaw set and his face white. He was playing solitaire. He looked up as they came in and he managed to smile.
“I suppose it will be worse,” he said.
Duval nodded.
“That’s what I expected.”
“This’ll really be something to tell our grandchildren,” said Hodges cheerfully. The Chaplain laughed.
“Something to tell your grandchildren,” he said.
“If you ever live to have any,” remarked Duval.
They sat together around the table, each thinking of the storm. Duval watched the Chaplain’s hands. They were white and plump and helpless. The Chaplain, Duval thought, could not have fixed a valve or even changed a sparkplug in a car. Of course the Chaplain knew many things. He could speak Latin, and Duval was impressed by Latin and the Church rituals. O’Mahoney’s soft hands could give blessings and that was an important thing. Perhaps it made no difference that his hands were not practical.
“Are you Catholic?” asked O’Mahoney, turning to Hodges.
The Lieutenant shook his head. “No, we’re Episcopal down home.”
“Indeed? I have known some very fine Episcopal ministers, very fine ones.”
“We’ve got a lot of them down home, ministers I mean.”
“I should suppose so. I knew some before I went into the monastery.”
“What’s a monastery like, sir?”
“Just like anything like that would be. Just the way you’d expect it to be. Perhaps a little like the army.”
“It must be queer, being so out of things.”
“One’s not so far out of the world. There is certainly nothing harder than living in close quarters with a group of people.”
“I thought it was supposed to be a kind of escape.”
“Certainly not. We have more time to think about the world. Of course, we do own nothing, and that makes life much simpler. Most people spend all their lives thinking of possessions.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Hodges. Duval did not listen as they talked. Instead he walked restlessly about the salon.
Through the after door he watched the white wake foaming. The wind appeared confused: blowing from first one direction and then shifting to another. There was snow in the clouds overhead.
The ship was tossed about like a stick in a river current. But somehow they managed to keep on course. The Chief tried not to think of this. He thought instead of a gauge on the starboard engine, but even that was too close to the storm. He turned and went back to the Chaplain and Hodges. Religious talk was soothing if nothing else.
He asked O’Mahoney about his monastery. O’Mahoney was happy to talk of it.
“A very simple place. There’s really not much to tell. We all have our different jobs.”
“What sort of work did you do?” asked Hodges.
“Well, I was in charge of the novices. Those are the beginners, the apprentices.”
“Sounds like a First Sergeant’s job,” said Hodges.
“Very much the same. I wish,” said the Chaplain wistfully, “that I was back in Maryland now.”
“So do I,” agreed Duval. “In New Orleans, I mean. I’m tired of this place.”
“We all are, but here we are. You have a wife, I suppose, in New Orleans?”
“Yes, I got a wife and two kids. We lost a new one two years ago. I guess she was too old to be having kids.”
“Such a pity, your child dying.”
“One of those things, they happen all the time. I saw the kid only once so it wasn’t so bad.”
The Chief sat down beside the Chaplain. Duval reached in his pocket and took out a knife. Carefully he whittled his fingernails. He concentrated on what he was doing. He would think of nothing else for a while.
Suddenly the ship lurched and Duval was thrown off the bench. His knife clattered on the deck.
He got to his feet quickly. The Chaplain was holding onto the bench with both hands, his face very white. Hodges was braced against a table. Duval looked down at his hand, conscious of a sharp pain: he had cut one of his fingers and it was bleeding. He waved his hand in the air to cool away the pain. Bright red blood in a thin stream trickled down his hand. The waving did not help. He stuck his finger in his mouth.
“You’d better get a bandage on that,” said O’Mahoney helpfully.
“Yes,” agreed Hodges. “That’s dangerous, cutting yourself.”
“I know, I’ll fix it. You people better hang around here until Evans decides what to do. You might get the Major up.” Holding his finger in the air, Duval went quickly down the companionway and into his engine room.
His two assistants were sitting beside the engines. They wore dirty dungarees and thin shirts; it was hot in the engine room. One of the oilers crouched in a corner. He had come aboard only the week before. Fumes from the oil, as well as the motion of the ship, had made him sick.
The two assistants, however, had been in this engine room in all sorts of weather for several years. They sat now under the bright electric lights and read much-handled magazines about Hollywood.
The Chief went aft to his stateroom in the stern. Carefully he wrapped a piece of gauze about his finger and then he tied the ends of the gauze into a neat bow. When he had finished he sat down on his bunk. He had always hated the sight of blood. He closed his eyes and took a deep and shaky breath. His heart was pounding furiously.
The first assistant came into the cabin.
“What’s the matter, Chief?”
“Not a thing.” Duval sat up straight and opened his eyes. “Cut my finger, that’s all. How’s that starboard engine sounding?”
“She sounds O.K., she’s going to be O.K.” The man leaned against the bulkhead. He was stout and red-headed and a good mechanic. He came from Seattle.
“Say, what’s this I hear that there’s going to be a big wind soon? Is that right?”
“I expect so. Evans don’t seem so bothered but the barometer’s gone down low. Going to have a williwaw.”
“It must be blowing hard outside. We been feeling it rock pretty bad but that’s not new on this run. Maybe I ought to go up and take a look.” The assistants seldom left the engine room. Several times they had gone through bad storms and had not known it until later. Even violent pitching and tossing did not alarm them.
“The wind ain’t too bad yet. Blowing maybe sixty, maybe more. It’s not coming from anywhere certain yet. The sea’s big, though.”
“Think we’ll anchor somewhere?”
“I don’t know. That guy Evans never tells us anything and I’m sure not going to ask him anything. Yes, I guess we’ll anchor in Ilak.”
“Well, it won’t be the first time we had to anchor in like that.”
“No, it won’t be the first time.”
Duval fingered the blue and white bedspread his wife had made for him and, fingering it, he thought of Olga. He hoped they would spend more time in the Big Harbor on the trip back.
“What did you do last night?” he asked.
His first assistant shrugged. “I didn’t do so much. Got tight, that’s all.”
“Too bad. Did you see that squarehead Bervick last night?”
“I saw him for a little while. He was in the Anchorage Inn. He was with old Angela. She’s sure a fat woman.”
Duval chuckled. “Serves him right. He was trying to sew up Olga. He wasn’t so smart about it. She’d come running if he didn’t keep bothering her about the others she sees. After all she’s got to make some money, like everybody else.”
“I heard that one before.” His assistant laughed. “She’s a fair looking girl, Olga is.”
“She certainly is.” Duval looked at his finger. He examined the bandage closely to see if the blood was seeping through. He was relieved to see it was not. “Let’s take a look around,” he said.
“O.K., Chief.”
They went back to the engine room. The other assistant was reading his magazine. He sat, teetering his chair with each lunge of the ship. Duval walked between the engines, checking the gauges and listening for trouble. Everything appeared in order. He switched on the hold pumps. When they were in a big sea the hold leaked badly; there was a leak somewhere but no one had ever found it.
Duval was pleased. If anything should happen to the ship now it would be Evans’ fault. The Chief did not like to take the blame for anything and in that he was quite normal.
He glanced at the oiler in the corner. For a moment he wondered if he should get him some ammonia or something because he looked so ill. He decided not to; when you were seasick you liked to be alone.
“Everything looks fine,” he said to his assistants. Then he went aft again to his stateroom, carefully examining his bandage for signs of fresh blood.